


Day at The Beach

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beaches, Body Horror, Deep Sea, Mermaids, Ocean, Other, Trick or Treat: Trick, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: She was happy once.  Until the day her loved ones died and began eating one another.  Seeking refuge, she found an inhospitable place, somewhere that was miserable to live, but somewhere that she could live and be miserable.  Of course, necessity did demand occasional interactions with her pursuers.





	Day at The Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rollcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollcake/gifts).



She dragged herself forward on her hands, calloused from all her time pulling herself forward on them.  She moved down the path, which she long since cleared of sticks and stones; she had grown tired of hurting herself when she dragged her way across her island.  Heh.  Her island.  It was almost ridiculous to have found this little patch of land, a place to call her own. All to herself.

Well, not exactly to herself. 

The twisted machine on the North end had her ‘neighbors’, the desiccated, skeletal corpses of several men strewn inside it.  She’d seen the machines before, sailing across the sky like the boats on the sea.  She didn’t recognize the language of the sigils on the machine, only that it was broken and bent and missing one of its fins, and that for some reason the sound of the sea echoed inside machine.

When her self-imposed exile started, the sounds of the surf, she cried. The constant water against the shore mocked her.  She’d be unable to sleep at night, hearing the sound of home, and she’d sit and cry. 

She was trapped here, her home lost to her. 

But nights became weeks, weeks became months, months became years.  The hurt never left, but she became used to the pain; it was like the aches in her arms from dragging herself, the pain in her underbelly and tail from being dragged.  The pain meant she was still alive. She just had to cope; she'd learned to arrange her affairs on the island to minimize the need for crawling; she wrapped her tail in the materials the corpses wrapped themselves in--awkwardly, as those wrappings were meant for the bizarre dual fins of the men, in order to keep her bare stomach from scraping the ground; and she learned to ignore home to minimize that hurt. Over her shoulders and back she wore another of their wrappings--human torsos similar enough to her own that it was self-explanatory how to wear it--and had done so ever since she learned that, above the water the sun would burn if you were too long in it.

Those first few weeks were rough. She was surprised she had survived, although the hardships on land were insufficient to make her venture back into the water. And gradually, she adapted. Things close to shore could be eaten, some of the plants could be eaten, there was plenty of water to drink. And she got used to the sun searing the ground and her with it, and started sleeping in the machine, used to the sounds of the surf.

When she got to the beach, she took a deep breath.  This was always the slowest part of the trip; there was no purchase on sand, and if she tried to move quickly she’d just kick up a cloud of dust that would choke her and burn her eyes.  She’d had difficulties when she’d had to hurry a few times before.

Since that time she had learned to be more careful.  Near the beach was a rock.  She grabbed it in one hand and crawled her way down to the shore.

The feel of wet sand on her fingers brought fresh tears to her eyes, it almost always did.  She lowered her face down and took a drink of water, the pleasant taste of sea salt bringing back memories.  She closed her eyes and remembered before.

She did not know why it started.  Maybe it was one of the human machines crashing into the ocean, trailing foulness as it sank.  Maybe it was the gods, angry at the diminishing belief among their worshipers.  Maybe it was something ancient and evil. 

Why didn’t really matter, only that it happened.  When it did, everything shifted.  Generational dynasties were wiped out, and there was nothing to stop it them, those who lacked care.  Maybe if decisive action had been taken earlier, it would have been fixable, but by the time the royal family decided on action, it was too late.

She had fled.  They could chase prey, untiring for days and nights and she could not match that.  However, there was one thing she knew of which could work.  She’d come here, on this pathetic strip of land.

The creatures that had once been her family and friends couldn’t follow really.  She felt heavy and tired climbing around on land without the support of the sea all around her.  Those odd lower fins humans had, so clumsy and ueless in water, allowed them to move on land with ease she never would be able to.  But she was still better than her pursuers.

Her limbs ached, but with exercise got used to the strain.  Their arms, rotten and missing chunks of flesh, could barely support them.  She was faster on land than they were, moved easier, didn’t have to worry about decayed limbs giving out.

And that was how she spent her years.

She opened her eyes and saw it, too close for comfort, too far for panic.

Its upper body was bloated, pale gray in the places black-red wounds hadn’t been opened.  Below the waves, what would have been vibrant green was largely sloughed off, only a few bleached scales on the rancid meat wrapped around bone.  The water around it was rainbow colored from the grease of its decay. The necklace of shells about it's neck was the only hint of true color it had.

She gripped the rock. 

The waves carried it closer; it coasting forward on the flotation its decay had provided it.  She turned away and put some distance before turning around, sand clinging to her wet body. The thing beached and gave a pathetic pursuit, drawing closer slowly.  It came at her unheeding the raised rock, stairing up at her with dull eyes, like a dead coral.  She looked at the patchy wreath of hair; trying to place the face, missing most of the nose and all of the lips, but between those missing pieces and the bloat, she couldn’t.

She brought the rock down repeated, until the waterlogged skull caved in and the thing stopped moving.  Then she turned and headed back inland.  Gulls would take care of it in due time.  Until they did, she’d go to the east beach. 

She had no clue how long she could sustain it.  Maybe she’d slip up eventually and be bitten.  Maybe as she aged, she’d want to return home, dangers be damned.  Maybe, the trend she noticed; fewer of them washing ashore, would continue until none did.  There were not an infinite number of mermaids in the sea, and eventually the ones bitten would all rot away or die at her rock.

Whatever the reason, her death or theirs, she was certain of at least one thing.  Eventually, she would go home.

**Author's Note:**

> To the requestor, you asked for a mermaid that preferred land and a zombie mermaid, and I had the amusing idea that the reason the mermaid preferred land was _because_ of the zombie mermaids. Hopefully that was alright for you.


End file.
